


Wind-Up Toy Soldier

by tsund0ku_library



Category: Metal Gear, Metal Gear Solid
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Bloody battlefield dirt, Death, Disassociation, Lots and lots of pain, M/M, Needles, Non-consensual sedative use, Oooook there's a lot in here, Other, Pain boners, Suicide but not really, Total destruction of identity, it's a total shitstorm, the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5896885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsund0ku_library/pseuds/tsund0ku_library
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here it is, my ode to Frank Jaeger. I finally decided to quit whining about the lack of content for him and do something about it. </p>
<p>This takes place a little before Portable Ops, a little bit during, and a little bit after. Pretty much Frank's life before MG1, because what the fuck was he doing during MGSV? It's like he vanished off the face of the earth. </p>
<p>I'm really trying to be canon compliant, but honestly it's so hard to work out Frank's timeline that I don't know whether or not it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelf Stable

Pain.

Pain is always the first thing he remembers. Before he remembers that he has limbs, a working, functioning body with hands that know a thousand ways to kill a human being without ever touching them, before he remembers that he has eyes that can open and see the world around him, he remembers pain.  
  
He feels the burn of foreign metal objects shoved beneath his skin. He can acutely feel the agony of fractured ribs and a dull ache in his forehead, a gash on his forehead stinging beneath his mop of pale hair. He thinks his hair is silver. He's not sure. He's only ever caught sight of his own reflection in the windows he passes or shiny metallic tables of the room where they keep him, where they put up their murderous toy until they need him again.  
  
He doesn't need a reflection. He doesn't need a name. He is the Perfect Soldier. Perfect soldiers are only needed for one thing and one thing only. And it's the only thing the Perfect Soldier is good at.  
  
Orders are murmured into his ear by an unfamiliar voice that he somehow recognizes as his commander, his owner. The falsely gentle voice explains his objective, his commander's head bent low into his box.  
  
"....A quick mission. No witnesses. No survivors. Two hours to complete the mission after the drop-off point. Make me proud, Null." His voice sounded distant, like it was coming from a place far away, but he caught every word with absolute retention.  
  
The Perfect Soldier doesn't open his eyes, his gray lashes hovering above sharp cheekbones that accentuate his hollow cheeks, but the commander knows that his orders will be followed. He waved the medical team forward, and they immediately got to work, plucking the needles that were buried into the flesh of his arm out and undoing buckles with clinical carefulness, their motions bored and practiced.  
  
The Perfect Soldier held completely still, feeling the cold metal moving beneath his skin, the prick of the needle as it was removed, thinking dimly about the terrified screams of someone as he plunged his machete into their abdomen. Null idly wondered if that was a dream or a memory, not much caring either way. It doesn't really matter. Null is nothing, Null is a tool, simply a wind-up plaything that will kill everything set in its path.  
  
When the last of the restraints is undone, the last IV needle finally pulled out, Null opened his eyes, his temporarily blurry eyesight streaked with what looked like darkly glimmering blood.  
  
Null sat up and realized that what he had thought was blood was actually some sort of fluid, and he was drenched in it, surrounded by it. He blinked fluid from his eyes, his vision still blurry, every sound too loud, the world suddenly a cacophony of noise.  
  
He took in the smug visage of his commander, not recognizing the face but knowing who he was instantly. He turned his head and looked at the doctors leaning against the wall opposite his commander, faces blank and feet fidgeting impatiently. They weren't scared of him, he knew. He was too loyal a tool for them to be _scared_ of him. They were, however, unnerved by him, by his empty, calculating stare, by the flat line of his mouth, wary of very twitch of his thin, talented fingers.  
  
The streaks in his vision slowly cleared as he swung his legs over the edge of the box and gracefully got to his feet, the only sound coming from him the whimper of the metal box creaking beneath his strong hand and the steady drip of the fluid sliding down his body and pooling beneath his feet as he stood up, the stale air chilly against his completely exposed, bare skin, but he didn't shiver. He didn't mind the air, despite its sterile, stale quality. It was a relief compared to the nightmarish still of his box.  
  
Every patch of skin seemed to be marred by the puckered line of a fresh scar or the thin, spidery shape of long healed scars. Null could not place when he got a single one of them.  
  
In a faint, unimportant way, he felt a twinge of unease at not knowing how they got there, but mostly he wanted his weapons. His tools. He wondered wistfully where they were, but he didn't ask. He knew better than to ask questions.  
  
"Dress it," His commander ordered, tilting his head in an offhand gesture that somehow still exuded power.  
  
Two of the medical professionals hurried forward, one holding a stack of stiff fabric, long boots hanging off her arm, the other wielding a towel. Null held perfectly still as the medic roughly patted him down, wiping the remnants of liquid from his toned body, impersonal hands swiping droplets away.  
  
The other medic watched disinterestedly as Null was dried off. When Null was dry, the person drying him off immediately straightened up, disappearing once more into the ranks of the medics cloaked in white, holding the towel away from themselves as though they were concerned it would stain the perfect white of their coat.  
  
The other medic came closer, unfolding the light fabric of his undergarment as she moved closer. She started to bend down, as though she were going to help him put them on, but he wrenched them from her, slipping his bare feet easily through the holes and tugging them in place. The medic gave a annoyed, "tch", but said nothing.  
  
His commander made a noise that was an approximation of a laugh, the kind of noise you would make if someone had only ever described to you what mirth was, but you had never experienced it yourself.  
  
"Well, well. It has learnt to dress itself. How nice." he said, his voice dripping with derision. The medics along the wall tittered uncomfortably, unsure whether or not the commander was making a joke.  
  
Null ignored them, taking the rest of his uniform from the woman, who immediately moved away as though a prolonged amount of time spent in close proximity to Null would irreparably damage her. Null pulled on the suit unconcernedly, ignoring the mockery of the people around him. Why would he care? He felt nothing, just blankness and a buzzing desire for a weapon in his hands, an almost physical ache.

  
Null slid the protective, tall boots into place, feeling the ridges of the armor, trying to remember the feeling of them. Wearing them felt _right_ , and yet he couldn't remember them at all. Glancing at his commander, he picked up his shoulder pads, buckling them into place with ease, stretching his arms out, feeling a detached pleasure at the mobility afforded to him in this scant outfit, careful not to show a hint of this approval in his face. He pulled the gloves on, but he glanced around. Something was missing. He straightened up, focusing once more on his commander.  
  
His commander smirked at him, Null's mask dangling from his cruel, soft hands. Murderer's hands, although he hardly ever picked up a gun himself.  
  
"Your orders, Null?" he asked casually, waiting for his reply.  
  
"A simple mission. No witnesses. No survivors. I have two hours after the drop-off point." The Perfect Soldier replied, his voice hoarse from disuse, every word sounding tortured. Behind him, one of the medical professionals concealed in white let out a small gasp. His commander frowned and stepped closer.  
  
"What was that?" his commander asked, his face twisted in displeasure. Null remained motionless. His commander took another step forward. A hand cracked against his face, blindingly quick, and yet Null could have stopped it if he had the remotest desire to do so. He didn't, the hard slap burning his cheek, the gash on his head tearing open. Blood trickled down the bridge of his nose, but he remained completely still. He didn't even sway from the impact of the forceful blow. Null's far too skilled, too trained for that.  
  
"I asked you a question, Null. _What are your orders?_ " his commander demanded, and belatedly, he realized his mistake.  
  
"A quick mission. No witnesses. No survivors. Two hours to complete the mission after the drop-off point." Null corrected himself, replaying the hushed instructions mentally and echoing them. He's not supposed to use different words. He's not supposed to have an identity. He's not an, "I", but an "it". He's a parrot, a machine preset to repeat back everything exactly as it is put to him, to perform exactly what is asked of him. His commander eased back, tilting his chin up with a single index finger and smiling grimly at him.  
  
"That's right, Null. Remember your namesake. You are Null. A lost number. You are _nothing_." His commander practically spat at him, but Null didn't react. He agrees. He is nothing. His only purpose is to carry out orders. Blood dripped from the end of his nose, splattering against the floor, blood swirling and unfurling in the puddle of fluid from his tank.  
  
"Great," one of the medical personnel sighed behind him. "It's messing up the place again."  
  
The commander ignored the muttered complaint and offered him the mask. Null put it on, slipping it over his bloodied nose and mouth, relieved that this, at least, he remembers. The familiar weight settles against his skin, and he is grateful to the man that just smacked him, grateful for the unnecessary, flimsy protection of the mask. He stared expectantly at his commander, waiting for more directions.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Go do what you were created for." His commanders says, pulling open the door. Null followed him through it, noticing the large man in uniform that was waiting outside the cold room that Null was kept in, a gun clutched in his hands, a mask that covers more than Null's mask obscuring his face. His commander jerked his head impatiently at the uniformed man, motioning him closer with a curt gesture of his hand.  
  
"Remember, destroy all evidence. Not a trace left. We don't want them to know what we want from them." The soldier nodded sharply, posture a study in respectful deference. The commander edged closer, leaning in to speak in the vicinity of the soldier's ear. The soldier bent closer, tilting his head as if to ensure that he heard him properly. "And don't go over the time limit. It is essential that Null isn't awake for longer than four hours. There would be consequences."  
  
The commander straightened up, smoothing down the lapels of his already impeccable jacket. "Now, take him to the helicopter. Quickly. Time is money, soldier." The soldier jolted into action, making to grab Null's arm and yank him down the corridor. But his meaty hand clenched around air. Null placidly stood on his other side, not a trace indicating that he hadn't always been there. His commander chuckled. It would have been a wam, comfortable sound coming from anyone else, but from him it was a chilling sound. Beneath his mask, the hair on the back of Null's neck stood on end.  
  
"It prefers not to be touched when on a mission, finds it distracting. I don't want Null distracted, do you?" His commander asked, and the soldier shook his head.  
  
"No, sir." the soldier agreed, starting down the hallway, his voice muffled by the mask. Null followed silently beside him, every step somehow fluid, every movement graceful. The soldier studied him from the corner of his eye.  
  
"Fucking freak," he added, under his breath, looking at the trail of blood that Null hadn't bothered to wipe away. Behind him, his commander gave another cold, mirthless chuckle, turning away.  
  
"Null's not a freak," The commander corrected, calling back over his shoulder, striding down the hallway in the opposite direction. "You have to be a person to be a freak, capable of autonomous decision. Null is not a person. Null's a weapon."  
  
Null said nothing. The soldier looked at him, then moved in front of him, clearly perturbed, leading the way to the helicopter, scaling the stairs. The way felt familiar, although it didn't look it. Null wondered how many times he'd gone down this way. Painful memories pushed at the barriers in his mind, screams echoing through his blank mind. Null blinked, pushing the memories back. They got in the way of his performance. His mission.  
  
The soldier pushed through the heavy door leading to the roof, letting go of the door so aggressively that Null thought that he intended to smack him with it. Null simply slipped through, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.  
  
Null leapt easily onto the helicopter, settling in the seat beside all of his gear, his trustworthy tools, focusing immediately on the floor.  
  
Null listened to the pilot, whose favoritism of his left arm, despite his right obviously being his dominant hand, told Null that his right was injured. Were he fighting the pilot, he would first grab and twist his right arm, then land a solid kick to the weak point, breaking his arm fully and effectively incapacitating him before driving his blade through his throat.  
  
Null didn't twitch a single muscle, silent as he pondered ways to exploit the pilot's weak points.  
  
The large soldier clambered up after him, his movements looking especially cumbersome and clumsy after Null's fluid ascent. The soldier heaved himself into a chair opposite Null's, his knee knocking into Null's. Null tensed and slid his knee away. The soldier huffed out a low, mirthless grunt of a laugh.  
  
"What, did that bruise you?" The soldier taunted him. "It wouldn't surprise me. You got a face like a fucking girl."  
  
Null didn't know, exactly, what his face looked like, but he assumed that calling it girlish wasn't a compliment. He said nothing, slipping the helmet over his head as they took off. The soldier rolled his eyes but followed suit, sliding his headphones on as he looked out of the cockpit at the horizon.  
  
They traveled in complete silence, and Null amused himself by coming up with a myriad of ways to incapacitate his travel companions. To keep it challenging, his plans didn't always end in death. Just paralysis.  
  
Null was so absorbed in his plans that he almost didn't notice that they had landed. The large soldier made to tap him on the shoulder, but Null undid the harness holding him in place just in time to avoid it. He quickly slung the machete across his body, holstering the gun with the other hand, even though he didn't expect to need it on this mission. The soldier struggled with the buckles of his harness, grumbling about his freakish charge.  
  
Null ignored him, setting the helmet on the seat he just vacated and exiting the hovering helicopter. Null's pale gaze settled on a clearly still in use warehouse some distance away from where the pilot had brought them.  
  
Null hit the ground with a quiet thump and immediately took off running in the direction of the warehouse painted in a dull shade of red, rust peeking through the slipshod paint job, trucks and other equipment for storing and transporting things to and from this warehouse parked haphazardly around it. Behind him, he heard the heavyset soldier leap out of the helicopter, landing with a decidedly louder sounding thump than Null did, swearing after Null's quickly disappearing form.  
  
The helicopter took off to find another place to land, somewhere safer than within 1000 yards of the warehouse, where it would wait for Null to complete his mission.  
  
Two hours. No witnesses. No survivors.  
  
Null dropped to a crouch, eyes fixed on the team of people in blue jumpsuits loading things onto military vehicles, soldiers in olive drab uniforms with patches on their soldiers that looked like a red-and-white striped rectangle standing around, cautious gazes scanning the area for threats. Null crouched lower, silver brows drawing together beneath his fringe of colorless hair as he formed a plan.  
  
"You're- You're not- human. Are you?" His companion panted out, having caught up with him. Null glanced at him, but he didn't reward the question with a response. He settled into a more comfortable position as he waited for an opening, ever-watchful eyes flitting between the blue-clothed workers and the military personnel.  
  
"AR-18s. Nice. Top-of-the-line." The solider said, a hard edge of what Null identified as sarcasm to his voice. "What cheap weapons. I don't know why I'm on this fucking mission."  
  
Null ignored him, wondering if the soldier ever stopped talking. Clearly his commander wanted some of the cargo. He assumed his companion knew what that cargo was. He knew that his companion's job was to destroy this warehouse. Null's job was to ensure that the path to the cargo was paved for his large soldier companion. He wondered why it was vital that there be no survivors. Surely someone would notice if a military stockpile went up in flames.  
  
Then Null remembered that curiosity was for people, not weapons, and he shut down that train of thought.  
  
"What are your orders?" Null asked, his lips moving against the rough fabric against him, his voice muffled from the shield of the mask. The soldier rolled his eyes.  
  
"I don't have to explain anything to you, freak." he growled, ripping off his own mask roughly. Beneath his mask, he had closely shorn light brown hair, plastered to his scalp with sweat, and a nasty scar ran down from his hairline to the bottom of his jaw. Null traced the scar with his eyes, curious about the origin of it.  
  
Null clenched his gloved fist. There it was again. That niggling curiosity worming through his empty mind, which was getting fuller by the second. Screams, some others people's, mostly his own, were reverberating through his skull as phantom hands clawed around in Null's insides, rearranging his intestines, a tube shoved down his throat, forcing food into his hollow stomach, needles jabbed into his thighs and into the crooks of his elbows.  
  
Null pressed a hand to his abdomen unconsciously, curling in on himself, swallowing reflexively. He certainly didn't mind getting his necessary nutrients intravenously. Much better that the feeding tube that had been thrusted into his unprepared throat.  
  
"Uh, Perfect Soldier?" The soldier asked hesitantly, waving a hand in front of his eyes. Null blinked. He realized that he had been staring at the soldier unwaveringly, distracted by his quickly cluttering mind.  
  
"Your orders. What were they?" Null asked again, his voice hoarse. The soldier shifted uncomfortably, opened his mouth, shut it again. Null made an impatient noise, swiftly moving closer, a hand resting comfortably on his machete. "We have less than an hour and forty-five minutes left. _Your orders_?"  
  
"I'm to get a small yellow box off of one these trucks, sir." The soldier said, shocked into submission by Null's sudden threatening stance. He leaned back, desperately wanting to get away from Null's pale gaze, his eyes on the hand that Null had on the hilt of his machete. Null twitched his fingers and the soldier flinched away satisfyingly. He continued, voice rising as he babbled nervously.  
  
"I'm to retrieve that box and then destroy the warehouse and everything in it. I'm to do within the two hour bracket. I have to get you back to the helicopter before four hours are up. Freak." The soldier added, as though he wanted to salvage some semblance of self-respect from this encounter. Null let him, swiftly returning his attention back to the warehouse, so still and placid that you could hardly tell that he had ever moved.  
  
"A small yellow box," Null repeated, no inflection placed on any of the words, eyes fixed in front of him, watching a small gaggle of blue-clothed workers indulge in friendly conversation, their work done for the moment. "That's your job."  
  
The soldier righted himself, tucking his mask into his pocket, sweat dripping onto the grass beneath them. Null wished that he would put it back on. It was marginally easier, what he would have to do, when he couldn't see their faces. But then again, it was better that he end it rather than disease or other infirmities. A blade was so much kinder, so much more merciful, than parasites and infection.  
  
"Yeah. Those are my orders. What, you have an issue with that?" he asked gruffly, shifting into a crouched position. Null ignored his combative tone.  
  
"You find the box and set up the charges. I'll take care of the rest," Null stated simply, rising into a half-crouch, looking like a runner about to compete in the Olympics.  
  
"You can't seriously think that you can- Hey! Get back here!" The soldier called quietly after him, trying to put authority into his half-whisper, but Null ignored him, sprinting to the unguarded group of workers, sliding his machete from his sheath as he sprinted. The soldier wasn't his commander.  
  
Four quick slashes. Blood flicked from the end of his blade, flecking the warehouse behind them. Blood poured out of one their throats, redness oozing steadily through their clamped fingers, falling to their knees. Another simply fell back, death claiming them so quickly that didn't have time to react, blood blooming in symmetrical spots on their thighs, rapidly staining the blue fabric purple, their femoral arteries severed. The last one stared at him blankly, shocked, a single hand pressed against their chest as if to try and attempt to hold the separated halves of their heart together.  
  
It all happened so quickly, there was barely any time to react to the sudden appearance of another killer in their midst. Military officers fumbled with their guns, trying to get a thread on Null as he swiftly made his way through their ranks, his machete flashing in the light as he methodically made his way through the workers of the warehouse, killing those with no way to defend themselves first.  
  
Mercy killings. Let the soldiers think that they have a chance. Let them try. It didn't make a difference to him whether or not he lived or died. Whether or not they lived or died. It was all the same. Null was only truly present, truly alive when he was doing his duty, fulfilling his purpose.  
  
"What the fuck--!" The soldiers were scattered around, frantically searching for the surprise intruder in their midst, shooting blindly, hoping to catch him by pure luck, Null was too quick for the nervous spray of bullets, neatly bypassing them.  
  
"Did we get him?" A nervous voice called out, voice cracking under the pressure of fear.  
  
"I don't know, do you see a ninja fucker-" Another voice began to reply, the hard edge of sarcasm barely masking his fear, but he broke off as Null sliced through his vocal chords, effectively ending his sharp retort.  
  
Null's blade swung out again and again, slicing through soft, vulnerable skin and cutting through the veins hidden beneath it, severing tendons, blood seeping from open wounds and coating the silver of his blade, bodies falling to the ground with muted thumps. Null methodically, swiftly moved through the ranks of soldiers, blade slashing through sinew and muscle, evading the hastily abandoned crates dropped by shocked and now fallen workers as he fulfilled the requirements of his mission.  
  
A bullet grazed the unprotected strip of skin on his upper arm, and the pain of the path the bullet burned through him was almost worth the disappointment he felt at not blocking it, a loud, pleased cry emitting from his throat.  
  
Null brought up his machete defensively, shielding himself from the rest of the bullets that fired in quick succession and lunged out, first cutting off the hand with the happy trigger finger and then driving his blade through the man's stomach, all the way to the hilt.  
  
The man fell forward as he pulled machete free, already turning to the last few targets left on the battlefield.  
  
Finally, the area surrounding the warehouse was silent and still, lifeless bodies strewn around. Null crept forward, pressed against the side of the warehouse, blood dripping from the edge of his blade, listening intently to the sounds coming from the inside of the warehouse before turning to look at the large soldier still crouched in the grass, his mouth hanging open. Null gestured him closer, and the soldier moved forward warily.  
  
"Do you have the explosives?" Null asked, breath hot against the confinement of the mask. The soldier simply nodded and withdrew the small charges wrapped with wire from where they were hidden in one of the many pouches on his uniform.  
  
"Set them up and retrieve the box," Null ordered, flattening himself against the warehouse wall on once more and sliding along it, machete clutched in his hands, blood dripping steadily off the blade.  
  
The solider said nothing, eyeing the gory piles of bodies scattering the bloodstained ground before obeying Null's muffled command, hastily starting to set them up around the perimeter.  
  
"Lazy fucks," a voice said angrily, the words floating from the open door of the warehouse. "We're in here, working our asses off, and listen to them! They're not doing a goddamn thing. Alex, go tell them to get a fucking move on."  
  
Null slid along the warehouse wall, pausing at the doorway and peering inside. A tall worker in a blue jumpsuit wiped his brow with a stained rag and started to make his way out, muttering to himself. He walked straight past Null, who was waiting patiently for his chance.  
  
"Boss says get a- Holy fuck, no-" Alex said, stumbling back as he took in the gruesome scene before him, eyes wide with uncomprehending terror. Null slashed his machete across the back of his knee and Alex crumpled to the ground with a pained cry, his Achilles' tendon severed.  
  
"Anhhn- no, please-!" he pleaded, clapping a hand to the back of his leg and raising a arm defensively over his face, as though to protect himself from Null's blade.  
  
Null plunged his machete into his heart, knowing the precise angle needed to avoid the skeletal protection that was surrounding his heart, and withdrawing it immediately. Alex fell forward, blood pouring out of the two quick wounds that Null had just inflicted upon him, face down in the dirt.  
  
"Alex?" The voice from before called uncertainly, but it was too late. Null ran inside, machete at the ready, eyes scanning mercilessly for weaknesses and openings, massacring everyone inside. They had never stood a chance.  
  
Null cut and sliced without discrimination, without a thought to the lives they must lead. This was his mission. No survivors. No witnesses.  
  
Soon, the warehouse was as still and silent as the area surrounding it, the only noises the quiet huff of breath that escaped from Null's mouth, trapped by the mask, and the sound of one of the trucks still idling outside the warehouse, the driver forever indisposed. The solider was still shuffling around outside the perimeter of the warehouse, presumably setting up charges or searching for the box.  
  
Null rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck, machete held loosely in his right hand, the blade pointing downwards. A pool of dark red fluid was collecting beneath the tip, steadily dripping off of the lethally sharp blade.  
  
"Mission incomplete," he thought.  
  
Null knelt on the ground beside a body that was had fallen face first into the ground, blood steadily seeping out from beneath it, soaking into the ground. He wiped his blade on the dark green shirtsleeve, warmth still lingering in the lifeless arm.  
  
Null finished wiping his blade clean, the cruel edge gleaming dangerously once more, but he remained kneeling on the blood-stained ground, unfocused eyes staring intently at the blood spreading sickly across the ground as a twinge of something went off within him. Remorse. It was almost guilt at all the life that he had wasted, bodies lying in heaps all around him. Yes, death was everywhere. So why should he feel anything but relief when it finally came? The targets around him were lucky.  
  
He looked through the doorway at the truck that was still running, a man hanging out of it, his mouth gapping open in a silent scream. Null stared at him, fascinated by the stillness.  
  
"You freak-" The burly soldier said, stepping over two bodies that had landed atop one another as he came closer. The soldier looked him over, face displaying revulsion and awe in equal parts. "And barely a scratch on you."  
  
Null gracefully got to his feet, straightening up, resisting the urge to finger the bullet graze he had sustained earlier. He sheathed his machete and tilted his head up to look the soldier in the eye. The solider relaxed slightly and came closer, clearly relieved by the loss of the machete, old bravado coming back in full force.  
  
"The charges. Have you finished placing them?" Null asked.  
  
"How did you do that? It was like you knew what they were going to do before they even knew what they were going to do," The soldier continued, coming closer. "And I know they said that that you don't feel a thing, that you're just a puppet that'll do everything they ask of you, but to me it looked like you _enjoyed_ it."  
  
"Did you retrieve the box?" Null asked tonelessly, looking up at the soldier. The soldier rolled his eyes and patted one of the pouches on the belt that was slung around his waist.  
  
"Got it right here. I do my job just as well as you do." the solider snarled, annoyed by the fact that he wasn't getting a response out of Null. He suddenly put a hand on Null's covered throat, his gloved thumb pressing down almost uncomfortably, as though he wanted to squeeze a reply out of Null.  
  
Null maintained his steady gaze, more comfortable with this large hand on his throat than he would have been with any gentle, friendly touch. His fingers twitched to the hilt of his machete, but he decided against it. He just cleaned the blade. Beside that, he needed more information.  
  
"They also said you don't like to be _touched_. I think they're wrong on both accounts. I think you know _exactly_ what you're doing and you fucking like it, you freak. I know a few things that you might enjoy, _Perfect Soldier_." he said, his stale, hot breath rustling Null's blood flecked hair, hand curling more firmly around Null's neck. His smile pulled the ugly scar on his cheek taut, making it look as though part of his face moved independently from the rest of his face.  
  
"You," Null thought. "The soldier kept on saying, you."  
  
"The explosives." Null said aloud.  
  
The soldier rolled his eyes. "Placed and ready to go. We have a good 15 minutes before we have to get back to Jerry, how about you-"  
  
The shot rang out in the warehouse, the rumble of the truck briefly drowned out by the sound of a bullet shooting out from the muzzle of Null's gun, pressed under the soldier's chin. Hot blood sprayed across his face, staining his bright hair.  
  
The soldier fell, the sick leer still on his face, the scar twisting his features. Null stepped back, allowing him to fall unimpeded, holstering the weapon, the gun still warm, hot against his thigh.  
  
No witnesses. No survivors. And his blade was still clean.  
  
Null knelt, opening the pouch that the solider had indicated and pulling it open, drawing out the yellow box, long and flat, sealed with a silver combination lock. Null secreted it away in his uniform, looking at the ruined, leaking hole dispassionately. Blood, dark and shiny, accumulated on the gray concrete, reflecting the ceiling.  
  
Null leaned closer, looking down at the darkly glimmering pool, peering at his reflection painted in blood. He tugged his mask down, looking at his thin nose and flat mouth, his slanted eyes, the dried dark trail creeping out from beneath his hair. Null touched his hollow, blood-speckled cheeks with the tips of his fingers before pulling the mask back into place, alighting to his feet once more.  
  
Null stepped over the scattered piles of abandoned carcasses, and set the charge, sprinting away again.  
  
He felt the impact of the explosion behind him, felt the rush of heat on the backs of his legs and the his neck, but he didn't lose his sure footing, didn't stumble. The smell of acrid smoke, charred human flesh smelling sickeningly like cooking meat, filled his nose. The truck finally stopped running, or possibly the ringing in his ears was too great for him to hear the over over it.  
  
Null found the helicopter, setting on the grass, the blades still. That wasn't good, the time limit was up, he had to get back. The commander would be angry.  
  
"The mission is complete." Null said, leaping easily into the helicopter, sliding the door shut behind him and removing the sheath for his machete and the holster for his gun. "We have to get going."  
  
The pilot looked up at him, the visor on his helmet pushed up. He shut the book he was reading, thumb holding his place. The book depicted a luridly colored picture of a woman slumped against a wall, a broad-shouldered man appearing to be pinning her against it, a large sword incorrectly gripped in one hand, the other flat against the wall beside the woman's face. Null didn't think his face looked anything like the round-cheeked woman, despite what the large soldier had said about him, "having a face like a damn girl".  
  
"Where is he?" The pilot asked, color draining from his face. "Where's Scott?"  
  
Null didn't answer, doing up his harness. "We need to go."  
  
"I'm not leaving without Scott." The pilot said stubbornly, twisting in his chair to look at Null, eyes scanning his bloodstained visage. Null met his gaze.  
  
"He's dead." Null said. "The mission is complete."  
  
"Did you do it?" The pilot asked. Null maintained his flat stare, and the pilot sighed, the slump of his shoulders speaking more of resignation than shock or disbelief. He lost his place in the book as he rubbed his eyes tiredly, still avoiding using his right arm.  
  
"I told him to stop shooting his mouth off," the pilot murmured, flipping switches as he prepared for take-off. "He was always too damn stubborn. I don't know what I'm going to tell his wife."  
  
The pilot glanced back at Null, who was staring at the back of his head blankly, more like he was simply searching for the direction the irritating noise was coming from than he was actually taking part in a conversation. The pilot sighed and shook his head.  
  
"Here," he said, picking up the book and tossing it to Null, who caught it reflexively. Null stared down at the book. "You need something to do, you looked bored on the way here. Put your helmet on, we're taking off."  
  
And with that the pilot slid the visor on his helmet down, effectively ending the one-sided conversation. Null blinked and put his helmet on, obeying the order. The pilot was almost- kind. The pilot was speaking to him as though he was a peer, a person with thoughts and motives, and it unnerved him.  
  
The mission complete, Null allowed himself to feel the pain throughout his body once more. His ribs ached, the running and twisting he had done certainly not helping the fractures heal. His arm burned and stung where the bullet grazed him, leaving a red, bloody welt in its wake, and the gash in his head that his commander had torn open felt white-hot and tight with pain.  
  
He settled into the pain, feeling almost grateful for its presence. It reminded him that he was still able to _feel_ things without the odd distance that he felt between himself and all the rest of his emotions. Pain was always there, and it always felt fresh, new. He only felt truly alive, truly awake when he was in pain.  
  
Null shifted and felt a weight on his legs. He looked down and noticed that the book was still in his lap, and he picked it up. He smudged the edges with his dirty, gloved fingers and Null set the book down and quickly stripped them off and set them on the seat beside him, revealing pale, scarred fingers. Null flipped the book open and scanned the first page.  
  
"Riveting.... The advances of the aggressive Gaelic warrior on the pure, but tempestuous red-headed beauty will leave her- and you- gasping for more... Norris's latest book grabs your attention and doesn't let go."  
  
Null frowned beneath his mask at the book referring to the man on the cover as a "warrior". Null shut the book and studied the cover once more. No, this man couldn't be a warrior, his grip on the sword was all wrong. If he were to swing his sword like that, he'd be more liable to hurt himself by spraining his own wrist rather than hurting anyone else.

Null stared at the large, tensed arm of the so-called warrior, and a hazy memory resurfaced, or maybe a it was a dream, for this remembrance was actually pleasant. The high of battle had driven his memories back behind their respective barriers, but now more memories were leaking through the cracks.  
  
_Someone's voice, light with laughter, spoke kind words into his ear as large arms wrapped around him, the scent of heavy, sweet-smelling smoke filled his nose and he felt the tickle of rough fabric against his cheek. He's warm and he's finally safe._  
  
Null's chest felt as though something strange, something warm was filing him, and he clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm, squashing the odd sensation, burying it, repressing the memory of a dream, because surely no memory of his would be that pleasant.  
  
Null rubbed his thumb over the image of the warrior's smooth, unscarred face disappointedly, No man lived through battle without scars to prove his past. He felt the helicopter judder beneath him and he tensed. They were back already. It was time to go back, he knew, it was time to back into his box. They were done playing with their wind-up toy soldier and they were going to put him away until he was needed again.  
  
"We're here," The pilot, Jerry, Null had heard the other man call him, said, a hint of pity in his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at him. Null felt a twinge of- shame? -over imagining ways to kill Jerry.  
  
Null remembered the piles of bodies that he had just laid waste to, remembered that they were probably reduced to smoldering husks by now, and felt envious of the peace that was now granted to them.  
  
Null undid his harness, standing up and removing the gun from his holster and setting it on the seat, Jerry's book still clasped loosely in his hand. He paused before getting off the helicopter, running a finger along the sheath of his machete, almost wistfully.  
  
"Shit," Jerry said, and Null glanced over at him, finger still tracing his machete. "He's already here."  
  
Null knew who he was talking about without even glancing out the window. His commander was here. The door slid open, and Null straightened up, waiting for his commander.  
  
"You're late," His commander said, lifting himself up into the helicopter, his voice filled with cold fury. Two people in uniform remained on the roof, watching Null with suspicious, wary eyes.  
  
"Sorry, sir, there were-" Jerry tried, but the commander quelled him with a look.  
  
"Where is it?" The commander demanded, ignoring the pilot completely. Null withdrew the box from his uniform and passed it over to the commander, who glanced down at it before tossing it to one of the people waiting below, lips twitching in triumph. "And the mission?"  
  
"The mission is complete." Null replied evenly.  
  
The commander almost looked pleased. But then he caught sight of the book in Null's hand.  
  
"A... Book?" His commander questioned, and he tore the book from his hand. Null felt the familiar prickle of loss, and it was more painful than the bullet speeding along his skin had been, and certainly less pleasurable.  
  
The commander dug his fingers deep into the pilot's injured arm and Jerry cried out, crumpling in on himself from the pain. Null watched, the faint desire to help Jerry rising within him.  
  
"Did you give it a book?" His commander asked, thrusting the book into his lap. "It can't even read. Is this why you were late, were you having a little book club?"  
  
Null wanted to protest, he could read, but he stopped himself. It occurred to him that they had never taught him to read, and that felt- that felt _good_ , having something to himself. But how had he acquired that skill? Where had he learned it? He cried out, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye, pressing so hard that his vision in his right eye went white.  
  
"You see? You've _broken_ it. Now I have to wait so much longer for it to get fixed." The commander said, almost beseechingly, squeezing his arm more tightly and wringing out another pained groan out of Jerry's mouth before turning to Null. "Kill him, Null."  
  
Null squinted at him, his face almost completely obscured by his mask and the hand pressed against his eye, but said nothing. He didn't want to kill him. Killing was the thing Null did best, following orders was what he was meant for, and _he didn't want to do it_ , despite the fact that he heard the commander's order throbbing in his skull, and he _needed_ to follow it.  
  
"Kill him, Null." The commander ordered, and Jerry whimpered. The commander glanced down and released his arm, stepping back. "Don't make me ask again, Null."  
  
"Please don't- I have a family- please-" Jerry said, clutching his own wounded arm tightly, looking pleadingly up at Null. Null huffed, his breath hot, caught by his mask.  
  
Null grabbed Jerry's head swiftly, one hand on his chin, the skin warm and soft beneath the roughness of unshaven stubble, and the other cupping the smooth material of his helmet and _twisted_ , easily breaking the slight resistance, snapping his neck with terrible crack, his final pleas still on his lips.  
  
Null dropped his hands, allowing Jerry to fall against the control panel, dead. His sightless eyes were open, his face still etched with pain and fear.  
  
Null clenched his empty hands, looking down at Jerry, with his kind tone and his books and his family. Dead like all the rest of them. Null felt another stab of _envy_. He felt longing curl in his gut for the same release to be granted to him as he had just given out so many times over.  
  
"Mission complete, Null." The commander said, putting a hand on his shoulder, a sick smile twisting his mouth. Null didn't look at him, staring down at Jerry. His commander tutted beside him in disappointment.  
  
"Hm. I can tell this mission is going to take some time to wipe clean." he said over his shoulder to the uniforms waiting below. "Take him back. No need to be gentle."  
  
Null understood. His consciousness had outlived his usefulness once more. They would no longer respect his desire for space. They were done playing with him, and now they just wanted him out of sight.  
  
The commander jumped down and the two soldiers reached up and seized Null's hands and yanked him down, nearly causing him to stumble as they roughly yanked him down to the roof.  
  
They guided him back down the steps, through the heavy doorway, down the bare hallway, tugging him around as though he were nothing more than a compliant, life-sized rag doll. The soldier beside him slid his hand slightly lower on his arm and his thumb rubbed at the welt the bullet had left, and Null's breath caught in his throat, his breathing hitching almost imperceptibly.  
  
They banged opened the door to Null's surgically clean room, the same team of medics lining the walls. Null's gaze dropped to the once more pristine floor, the puddle of fluid and blood he had left was gone, leaving a gleaming tiled floor in its place.  
  
"Strip it," the medic from before that had brought him his uniform said in a bored tone. The soldiers immediately complied, fingers fumbling at the clasps of Null's uniform, hands everywhere. Null stood completely still, his mask still in place as they clumsily removed his body armor.  
  
He stared straight ahead of him, the day flashing before his eyes.  
  
_The worker on his knees, Null driving his sword through his chest, piercing his heart, the large, abrasive soldier, his long winding scar, the ruined hole in his head, Null's sharp reflection in the pool of blood, the burn of the explosion, Jerry tossing the book at him, Jerry dead, the commander's hand cracking against his face, the commander's hand against his shoulder.  
_  
A hand yanked his mask down and pulled it free of his neck, stale, cool air filing his nose, and Null snapped out of his reverie. They were going to take his memories again. They were going to rip him out of himself again, he was going to be their blank Perfect Soldier once more.  
  
One of the soldiers hoisted him roughly into the air, their hands tucked beneath his arms, as the other knelt on the clean floor, undoing the fasteners that held his boots on and tugging them off. As soon as his shoes were removed and the bloodstained pants were taken off, the soldier set him down and shoved him forward, Null completely naked save for his light undergarment.  
  
"Get in," the medic from before said, adjusting a bag of clear fluid on the side of the tank.  
  
Null felt dread curl low in his stomach, but he acquiesced, planting a hand on the side of the tank and hoisting himself into the fluid. He settled into it, lining himself up in his coffin like box before taking a deep breath and laying back, submerging himself in the liquid.  
  
It was always so strange, the shift between breathing real air and this amniotic-liquid, but Null breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the substance.  
  
"It's enjoying killing too much," A muted voice said above him. He closed his eyes, shutting out the blurry white forms and instead focusing on their voices. "He killed Jerry and he was staring at him like he wanted to fuck his corpse or something."  
  
"Jerry's dead? That's a shame," Another, higher voice said, and Null heard the rustle of a plastic bag. "He was a nice guy."  
  
"Yeah, he was." Someone else agreed. Hands plunged into his box, disturbing his rest, and grabbed his wrists, affixing them in place with wide, thick restraints around his wrists. His ankles were similarly bound, and he fought against the urge to struggle against them, somehow knowing that it was pointless.  
  
Surrounded by this fake semblance of calm, Null once more focused on the pain in his body, the ache in his sides and cut on his forehead. It felt _good_ focusing on the pain in his body rather than the anguish in his mind, simultaneously dreading the forced still that was coming and relieved that soon he wouldn't have to think, he wouldn't have to _be_ anymore. He would just be still and quiet, with no orders to carry out, Null would be just as he was supposed to be; nothing.  
  
"Look at him, he's no _perfect_ solider!" The voice that had told the medics about Jerry said. A gloved hand dived into the box and squeezed the bullet graze, and pain shot through his upper arm, laced with a jolt of pleasure. Null felt a tingling warmth pool in his belly and curl lower, and his hips twitched. "He got wounded!"  
  
"I'd like to see you take on an entire squadron of solders and only sustain a few superficial cuts!" The higher voice retorted reproachfully. "We've done good, groundbreaking work on this subject. And the subject is an, 'it', not a 'he'."  
  
"Sorry," said the person with the hand squeezing Null's wounded upper arm. "It's wounded."  
  
More hands interrupted the fluid, latex-gloved hands shoving needles beneath his skin, and he thought he heard a gasp.  
  
"Look at it!" The voice sounded aghast. "It _likes_ this!"  
  
The hand moved from his arm down to the front of his body, cupping the area between his legs. Instinctively, he tried to press his thighs together, to protect this weak point on his anatomy, but the cuffs around his ankles prevented him.  
  
"Stop it! We're trying to calm it down, not make it frisky!" The high voice reprimanded the owner of the probing hand. Null's eyes squeezed shut tighter, his hips bucking up into the hand, lifting briefly out of the fluid, slopping liquid over the sides.  
  
"Shit- sorry." The voice said, withdrawing the hand, dripping fluid back into the tank. Null bit back a noise in his throat, wanting that pressure back. He liked the way his breath was quickening, his chest rising and falling rapidly like he was back on the battlefield, the way his skin felt hot and sensitive.  
  
"Just- why is it reacting like this?" The voice asked tentatively.  
  
"When the subject is lucid too long and deprived of his -ah - _its_ tank, its motivations, its... Desires start coming back." Null heard the disgust twisting their mouth in the way they said it. "That's why it's vitally important that that Ursula or Elise or what her name is finishes that new formula. We need it to be a viable soldier for longer. Hand me those scissors."  
  
"Ah," The soldier said, and Null heard the scuffle of booted feet moving across the floor. "I see. Here you go."  
  
"Thanks." Null felt the scissors cutting the leg of his undergarment, slicing the fabric. The cool press of the scissors gliding against his bare thighs was almost more exciting than the pressure had been, and he made an effort to remain still, breathing more shallowly as he fought to control himself.  
  
"So until this formula is completed, we have to be more careful, then." The soldier concluded as the sopping fabric was removed from his tank.  
  
"Agreed. Far more careful." The high voice said, multiple pairs of hands checking the restraints before everything retreated from his box, alone, needles sticking out of his arms, hands and ankles pinned in place once more.  
  
The lid fell closed, shutting out every bit of light and sound, leaving Null completely alone and devoid of any contact, human or otherwise, once more.  
  
His skin felt like it was aflame, despite the fluid engulfing him. Null pulled half-heartedly at the restraint on his wrist, wishing that he could provide the pressure himself. It had felt nice.  
  
Soon, or possibly a great deal later, Null could never tell time in this still, unchanging box, Null felt himself drift away again, forgetting about his desire to investigate the warmth still lingering between his legs. Null felt the memories of Jerry and the soldier and the warehouse slip away, memories escaping his tenuous hold.  
  
Null sighed, a bubble issuing from his mouth as the last bit of air escaped his lungs, and let himself slip away along with his memories, resigning himself to another eternity spent in the box.


	2. Storied Past, Memorable Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we delve into the beginning part of Portable Ops.  
> To all eleven of you that waited patiently for the next installment, thank you!

"Well?" The man asked, a smug smirk on his lips. "What did you think of its performance?"  
  
Elisa eyed the tank, looked at the bloodied gear in a heap on a silver table. She breathed in the scent of disinfect, the tang of metal in the air. The man shifted impatiently. This was a man used to being waited on, hand and foot, used to having full grown men and women bowing and scraping at his feet. This was a man that hated to be in a position where he didn't pull all the strings. But now he was dealing with ultimate puppet master.  
  
"I thought..." Gene began, stepping forward, into the puffed up commander's personal space, fingers idly tapping on the lid of Null's tank. "I thought he did quite well, wouldn't you say, Ursula?"  
  
Elisa looked away from the stained clothing, meeting Gene's eye as he glanced back at her over his shoulder with an inquisitive brow arched.  
  
"Improvements could be made." she said simply, sniffing. Gene nodded, a thin smile ghosting his features as he turned back to the commander. Elisa didn't care to learn his name. She had seen him countless times, and she never bothered to remember it. He was Null's dispatcher and nothing more to her. She looked back at the tank, the silver coffin. The one looked more mobile than the last one they'd put him in, sleeker.  
  
"Indeed. That's what I have you for, my dear." Gene said, with an approximation of warmth in his tone. "Always so modest about your work."  
  
The commander stepped back, creating a safe distance of space between him and Gene. A mistake. Gene took another step forward, gaining even more ground on him. Moving further into his personal space.  
  
"S-so." The man said, stumbling slightly through his words. He straightened his shoulders, imbuing his form with false confidence. "I can tell that you're clearly interested in the subject. I know she's already on the project. Let's say we discuss the intricacies of our-"  
  
"Yes, let's." Gene cut over him, moving still closer, stealing that last bit of personal space from him. "My terms are- simple. I take Null. I use Null. He'll be a fine addition to my country, a good example."  
  
The commander frowned, lines deepening in the sagging flesh of his face. Despite himself, he seemed to be gaining a bit of confidence once more. "Well, now, that's not how a business transaction goes, Gene. It's a mutual thing. I have something you want, you give me something I want in return. Null here is a very valuable specimen, and I'd hate to lose him, but I want to help you, I do."  
  
Elisa noted the twitch in Gene's jaw, though the smile on his face never faded. If anything, it widened, and the result was something that was far removed from an expression that would give comfort or reassurance.  
  
"Gene", he'd said. Not "sir", not "commander". "Gene." As though he's earned the right of familiarity.  
  
"You want to help me?" Gene asked, cocking his head to the side. Elisa saw the commander's face light up, as though he'd just gained a foothold in this business transaction. Poor fool, she could feel his greed from here. She almost felt sorry for him, but she could feel the sharp edges of his pointless cruelty, his nasty, shriveled soul. She continued to watch Gene work his skills in apathetic detachment.  
  
"Yes, of course! Help me help _you_." The man said, trying his hand at being charming.  
  
She couldn't handle one more moment of the man's unskilled negotiation tactics, and tuned out of the conversation. Elisa crept forward, focusing instead on the tank, looking down at the flat silver of the lid, searching for the still boy hidden within.She felt the disordered jumble of his mind, the simple registration of sensation filling his awareness, pushing his memories back, where he couldn't access them. His mind gradually slipped further away, felt harder to grasp.  
  
"-and that's why I don't like complications myself, _commander_." Gene finished his speech, but Elisa kept her gaze trained on Null's still face. "Do you enjoy complications?"  
  
Gene's finger snaked out, unsnapped the strap holding the gun securely in the pointless holster the commander had donned for appearances. Elisa heard the jingle of the freed clasp. She kept her eyes down, focused on the tank. Her head itched beneath the hat.  
  
"No, I don't." The man said, quivering slightly in fear. "We're both reasonable men, I'm sure we can work something out-"  
  
"Pick up your gun. If you even know how to shoot it." Gene sneered. The commander's hand twitched to his hip, almost obeying Gene's command without Gene imbuing it with power, with persuasion.  
  
"I said, ' _Pick up your gun_ '," Gene said again, his voice painful to hear, pressing and filling her mind. The commander's fingers wrapped around the handle of his gun, obeying as Gene bent his will to suit his purposes. He slowly eased the gun from its holster.  
  
"Good. Finger on the trigger now." Gene coaxed him. The man resisted him, clinging to his pathetic will to live. Elisa felt Gene's amusement, and Gene pressed a little more persuasion into his words, pushing harder. " _You want to help me, don't you_?"  
  
"Yes, yes, I want to help you..." The man said, his voice weaker.  
  
"Good. _Help me by getting rid of my complication_." Gene said, almost gently.  
  
The man's trembling hand slowly raised the gun, his gaze fixed on Gene's smirking face. Elisa kept her eyes down, her mouth taut. She disapproved with the way he played with his prey, but she said nothing.  
  
"I'll help you..." he said, and squeezed the trigger.  
  
Elisa's ears rang. She barely registered the thud of the commander's slack body. Red streaks painted the top of Null's tank and Gene turned back to Elisa, done with his game.  
  
"I think now is the time for some real work for our Perfect Solider, don't you?"

 

                                                           ***

 

Emptiness echoed around him. His mind was blank, the edges of his mind indistinguishable from the area around him. He felt as he though he was both everywhere and nowhere at once, unbearably constricted and also somehow completely borderless.  
  
He thought he might have shifted, or maybe he remained completely still. Nothing was certain here, everything felt hazy and undefined. Peaceful.  
  
The lid of the tank slid open, and Null's mind snapped back into his own skull, feeling confining and unbearable compared to the peaceful nothingness of before, pain filling his awareness. Null was certain his body was immobile now, restraints pinning his arms away from his body, his ankles apart. Was that new? He heard something indistinct, his eyes moved beneath his closed eyelids.  
  
"-Elisa, Null. I'm Elisa." The noise tried again.  
  
Outside the tank, the slight, blonde hair girl peered into the box, taking in how vulnerable be looked, completely exposed, light hair tangling and floating around his almost deathly pale, hollow-cheeked face. This didn't look like a trained killer, pale skin littered with mottled bruises, this looked more like a recently submerged cadaver. And yet she knew better. She felt sick for what she had done to him, aiding people in stripping him of everything but his skills, leaving him with nothing of his own. And yet, she could still feel his presence, she knew that he was buried somewhere deep inside him, buried under thick layers of scar tissue.  
  
Elisa reached in tentatively, her hand hovering above the nasty-looking, fading scratch on his forehead, the cruel jagged scar making it obvious where the skin had been split apart. She wet her lips, and dipped her fingers into the fluid, brushing the back of his hand gently, uncertainly. Null flinched violently, arms automatically pulling against the restraints. Elisa jerked in surprise, and then let out a breath, a pleased gasp.  
  
"I knew you were still in there, somewhere, Null." The voice was light, pleasant, almost praising. "You felt distant, but I knew you were in there."  
  
Null wanted the voice to go away. He had been at peace before, he just wanted to rest now. He didn't want to be aware, he didn't want pain, he didn't want to feel. He didn't want to _be_. He wanted to remain formless in the still, unchanging liquid.  
  
"Why have they bound you?" Elisa murmured, more to herself than to Null, hands plunging into the fluid, assuredly freeing his limbs of the restraints. "You never fight back, they made sure of that. _We_ made sure of that."  
  
Null remained still, feeling her quick fingers undo the straps around his limbs, barely twitching his fingers in response to the suddenly restored mobility. She released his limbs one by one, prattling on the entire time.  
  
"I'm sorry about all this, Null. I'm so sorry. But I'll fix this, don't you worry." she promised, loosening the last restraint and dropping it into the tank.  
  
"A mission?" Null asked, or at least tried to, his lips moving soundlessly beneath the fluid. But Elisa seemed to understand him anyway, and she laughed gently, not out of humor but meant to put him at ease. A kindness never paid to Null, and it unsettled him. His fingers twitched, and Elisa watched it with unreadable eyes, the movement disturbing the still surface of the fluid.  
  
"No, not a mission. Not for you at least." Elisa said, with another short, kind laugh. She tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear, biting her lip, edging closer to him. She slipped her hand into the fluid, much more uncertainly than she had when she had undone Null's restraints. She looked at her hand, distorted by the liquid and looking small and wavering and pale. Finally she grabbed Null's hand and threaded his fingers through her own.  
  
Null thrashed, struggling under the surface, trying to pull away, every sense screeching a need to get away.  
  
Elisa gasped, and her grip loosened as Null wrenched his hand free, fluid sloshing over the side and soaking the front of her clothes. She yanked her hand out hastily, and Null immediately stilled, the only indication that he'd moved at all the volatile rippling of the unsettled, swirling fluid.  
  
Elisa watched the water still. holding her hand up, droplets gathering on her skin and sliding down her arm and damping the folded cuff of her coat, her mouth downturned in thought. Suddenly, she laughed again, running the fingers of her dry hand through her hair and shaking her head.  
  
"You know, this is like... At least a quarter of a million dollars worth of formula on me right now," Elisa said looking down at herself and pulling on the hem of her shirt to look at the darkening spot. "No, actually, it's probably more."  
  
Null cautiously opened his eyes, shifting his head slightly to better look at her, feeling an immediate spike of discomfort when he saw the white of her lab coat. Her lab coat hung open, to reveal a plain black shirt, stained from Null's discomfort. The unbuttoned coat struck Null as odd, though he couldn't explain why. Elisa's eyes met Null's through the barrier covering his eyes and Null saw- compassion in them.  
  
Null shut his eyes quickly, resuming his best impression of a cadaver. Elisa's eyes hardened in determination and she took a step forward, dunking her hand into the tank and picking up Null's hand again, squeezing gently. Null held still this time, his breaths shallow, cautiously breathing in the fluid.  
  
This seemed to embolden Elisa, who gripped his hand more firmly, bending lower as if to ensure that Null caught every word, speaking clearly despite the muting effect the substance around him had. The tips of her hair dipped into the tank, but she didn't seem to care, completely focused on the unnaturally still, naked boy in the tank, eyes wide with earnest intent.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Null, but I'll fix this. I'll try and make this right. I wholeheartedly regret my involvement in this project, but I'm going to _fix_ this." Her features had a steely cast to them as she scanned the sharp, angled face in the tank, her fingers pressing and insistent around his hand. "I will try and give back everything that we've taken from you, Null. I'm working on something, a new formula, and they don't know what it's for. They think it's to improve your viability as a soldier, but I'm actually going to try and, ah, wean you off of this particular formula. It would be too dangerous to just stop completely, both physically and mentally devastating, but if we do it slowly, bit by bit, it should be ok. I think."  
  
Null floated, stretching out his ankles, pointing his toes, simply because he could, listening to the cracking of his joints. Remembering the sensation of splintering bone. Feeling Elisa's hand around his own. He didn't quite understand what she was saying, but enjoyed the soft murmur of Elisa's voice, the way her cadence never hardened into a harsh, demanding tone.  
  
"In the meantime, what can I do for you? How can I help? I hate- I hate how you're in there. I can feel your mind, but it feels- distorted. Muted. It feels wrong after you've been in there too long. How can I help, Null?" Elisa asked him, leaning so far into the tank that a good length of her hair would be sopping when she finally pulled away. Null didn't want her to pull away.  
  
Null's face twitched. His hand tightened, and he opened his mouth to answer her, but no sound emitted from his mouth. He wanted to say that he wanted to her speak more, that he wanted to hear her voice, but he had no way to articulate it. To sit up would be unthinkable. He was to remain in his tank unless needed for a mission.  
  
"I can do that," Elisa said, and Null heard the smile shape her words. "I'll find a way to speak to you, Null, every day if I can help it. I'm sorry, I have to go, but I'll come back soon. I promise."  
  
Null wondered how she had understood his request, but he didn't question her, simply felt her fingers squeeze his hand once more, gentle as ever, before disentangling herself, removing her dripping hand from his tank. Null felt his body relax slightly, much more comfortable alone and and untouched.  
  
Elisa straightened up, the ends of her blonde curtain of hair clumping together as she pulled away, sliding his tank closed, feeling Null's mind immediately begin to shut down and unfurl once more, his thoughts becoming unfocused and abstract. She thought he felt a little more content, a little more relaxed than he had before she had interrupted him. Or maybe she was projecting on him, her own hope clouding her judgement. She laid her palm flat against the lid, as though she could press through the steel and touch him.  
  
"I will help you, Null." she said, her voice full of quiet determination. "I promise you that."

 

                                                              ***

 

Through careful deliberation, Elisa decided that the most simple, yet helpful way to fulfill his request was to read to him, to give him a way to connect with humanity without ever leaving the prison, the sanctuary of his tank.

  
After pouring through Null's files, she found out that he possibly came from Vietnamese descent, so she'd attempted to learn that as well, and her attempts were rewarded when Null had responded better than ever the last time she'd stumbled through the the unfamiliar pronunciations, and it was worth it just to feel that sort of pleased recognition flit through his mind before he was lost to the strange environment of his tank once more.

She sifted through the stacks of books, the collections of fairy tales she had gathered to read to Null. She had books in English and German and even Vietnamese, although her Vietnamese was worse than her German. She paused in her perusal of the books, remembering the way Null had responded when she had tried to carefully read out the legend of _Dã Tràng_ to him, stumbling through the pronunciations.  
  
Elisa had slid back the lid of his tank, and Null had asked about a mission, as he always did, and Elisa had introduced herself, as she always did, and Null seemed distant and confused. Elisa had tentatively touched the back of his hand, book hidden safely beneath her lab coat from any possible splatters, and Null had predictably flinched away from her touch, although she thought it was possibly less violently than it had been the first time. Her shirt had been noticeably drier, in any case.  
  
"I'm going to read, ah, "Dah Tr-ung" to you today, Null." Elisa had said, trying to sound out the name, and she thought she saw his face- Not flinch exactly, but there was certainly a twitch.  
  
" _Za dung_ ," Null thought astonishingly distinctly, correcting her, and a smile had spread across Elisa's face, absolutely delighted to be corrected. Any sign of Null fighting against what was told to him was an encouraging sign.  
  
She had repeated his pronunciation and continued plowing through the story, clumsily voicing the unfamiliar syllables and barely comprehending the gist of the story, but she had left Null that day with a contented feeling in her stomach, a sensation that she felt mirrored in Null.  
  
The only facts Elisa knew regarding Null's background before he was obtained (captured, she reminds herself, he was a human being before) were what was found in his files, and she knew that he'd already been a fighter, already skilled in combat before they took him in. A perfect candidate for the Perfect Soldier project.  
  
In an odd way, she felt like they had grown up together, although theirs was an almost entirely one sided relationship.  
  
She knew Gene was curious, she hated that Ursula was encouraging his interest. She knew that Gene wanted to recreate Null 100 times over, an army of impeccable soldiers, devoid of doubt and free of the burden of moral qualms, allowed to simply follow orders, revel in the simple bliss of doing only what is asked of them and nothing more. Unafraid of the whispers of their conscience. Able to do as they're told, with no nasty repercussions.  
  
She saw in the upward tick of Gene's cruel, calculating mouth an excitement about what her latest formula would do. She told him it would improve Null's responsiveness after being in the tank, that he would be able to go out on twice as many missions with half the amount of cool-down time in the tank.  
  
He was growing impatient, he wanted to test out his new weapon, and she still remembered the splatter of the commander's head splitting open and spilling everywhere.  
  
She selected a book from the stacks, a thin volume in Vietnamese. She'd been trying out a myriad of languages, despite the fact that Ursula was really the one that was talented with this sort of thing. She'd brushed up on her German to read him the original Grimm stories, dark tales filled with the endless want of humanity and always involved blood.  
  
She recalled the memory of reading him, " _Dã Tràng_ " with a faint smile on her lips, pushing open the door and setting off down the hallway, making her way towards Null's quarters.  
  
She hoped that he'd like this new story, too, although she had no hope of fully understanding it herself. She made her way down the hall, head down and lost in thought when Gene caught her sleeve, stopping her short. Elisa looked up in surprise, not having realized that Gene was in the hallway.  
  
"Off to visit our pet project?" Gene asked. Elisa nodded, trying to smother the urge to to hide the book behind her back.  
  
"So I assume he'll be ready for another mission soon, yes? A demonstration of the effectiveness of your new formula..." Gene asked, a shrewd look in his eye. Elisa glanced away. With the improvements she was making in his formula, he would be more driven by his own motivations, his needs more immediate, his emotions would be more volatile- or not. It was untested, and it would be risky to send him out now. Perhaps there would be no change. Perhaps the glimmer of memory she had noticed was a fluke.  
  
"I think.... We should wait awhile longer before sending him out there." Elisa said, not quite meeting his eye. Gene tilted his head, eyes tracking every twitch of her facial muscles. She cleared her throat, tucked her hair behind her ear. "I think Null needs some time to readjust before we test this out."  
  
"Ursula seemed quite enthused by the idea of testing this formula yesterday. What happened? You don't share her views?" Gene asked, almost amused. Elisa leaned back, toes curling in her shoes.  
  
"I just think it would be- Dangerous. He needs to grow accustomed to this change before we do anything."  
  
"I sent him to go capture Big Boss." Gene said this pronouncement with an air of indifference, but the cruel smirk, the glittering eyes betrayed his glee. Elisa's fist clenched, the thin book bending in her tight clutch.  
  
"You thought that the best test of this new formula was to send him after _the legendary solider_?" Elisa demanded, glaring at him before shoving past him, in a spurt of reckless disrespect in her haste to get to Null's quarters. Gene did not reprimand her, he simply moved to the side to let her past, following her with malicious interest.  
  
Elisa banged open the door to the room where they stored his tank, and immediately noted its absence. Her stomach dropped as she scanned the room. The imposing, coffin-like structure was gone, leaving only a gleaming medical table on wheels and scuff marks on the floor where it'd been. Elisa's anger was immediately replaced with loss and fear.  
  
"Our little project is stretching its wings right now. He's probably already there. Perhaps he's already fighting him. A perfected solider up against a man more legend than human at this point. Which do you think will come out on top, Elisa?" Gene's cold voice asked her, a smile shaping his words.  
  
Elisa shivered, and loosened her grip on the book in her hands, and found it irreversibly bent, having held on too tightly for too long to repair it.  
  
"Take me to him, Gene." She requested in a barely audible voice. She felt Gene move closer behind her.  
  
"Your presence was already requested by Cunningham," Gene said, his voice too close. "We'll be there tomorrow, and he's picking us up. We'll leave together. We'd better bring Ursula, too."  
  
Elisa felt Gene's presence at her back, and looked at the spot that housed Null's absence. "He'd better be fine."

   

                                                            ***

 

Null gripped the hilt tightly in his hand, blade already out, eyes slanted as he searched for his target. He felt- off.  
  
He felt.  
  
His awakening was odd. He was given orders, medics unhooked and detached him from the tank, the familiar thrum of old aches and pains wound though his body, there was even the sterile scent in the air when he sat up. This all should've been normal. This all should've been right, but it almost felt like he was expecting something different. Something- softer, kinder, gentler.  
  
He felt like he was missing someone.  
  
Null attempted to ignore his- feelings, to focus on the mission, the objective.  
  
" _Bring him in. Neutralize him, neutralize Snake,_ " The man on the phone had hissed in his ear, and he was willing to comply. He was made to comply.  
  
Null was given scant, cursory details about the man himself. A bandana would be tied around the man's head. He'd prowl and lurk in the shadows, not unlike Null himself was doing. But they'd said he'd be armed with tranquilizers, that he possessed formidable hand-to-hand combat skills. These were the tools of someone unwilling, but not unable to kill. Null had no such qualms, this gave him the advantage.  
  
Null heard a clatter to his right, and he pressed against a storage container, peering around the side, looking in the opposite direction the noise had come in, for surely that had been intended as a distraction. As he expected, he caught a glimmer of steel, the flick of fabric.  
  
Null hoisted himself carefully on top of the storage container, foot on a rock to give him a bit more height, an added bit of leverage. He searched in the darkness for the glint of a gun, or the shimmer of the white of a eye. Crouching low, he crept forward, certain that he saw something shifting in the shadows. He almost didn't hear it coming.  
  
Null rolled from the top of the container just as a tranquilizer pierced the air where he'd been just a moment before. He landed in perfect crouch, easily absorbing the shock of hitting the ground. He scanned the area around him and saw _him_ , saw Snake, single eye trained on him. Null rolled again, as Snake shot off two successive shots where he had landed.  
  
He was good, but Null was trained for this. This sort of mission was what he was designed for.  
  
Null rose agilely to his feet, turning to the side to make himself less of a target, both hands wrapped around the hilt of his machete. He mentally went through the weaknesses he'd spotted in Snake's form. The man was down an eye, that meant a loss of depth perception. His aim would suffer for it. He would most likely prefer the hands-on approach, putting his hand-to-hand combat skills to work. Null also preferred close quarters combat, but perhaps the gun on his thigh would be better suited to take this man down.  
  
He heard the scuffle of military boots on the ground, the whisper of fabric. Snake was moving, and he was wearing light gear. Null hastened back towards the cover of other storage containers, the sound of his own movements briefly drowning out Snake's noises. What was wrong with him? Normally.... Yes, he was near certain. Normally he could move soundlessly without focusing on it. His brows creased beneath his neat, pointed bangs, the corners of his mouth downturned beneath his mask. He made a concentrated effort to make his movements quieter, smoother. And then he heard it.  
  
An arm slipped around his neck, crushing his throat, severely limiting his air supply. He could easily break this hold, but he was frozen in shock, amazed that someone had caught him off guard like this. He almost lost control of his machete, but he held on, stretching his neck out in a feeble attempt to coax more air into his deprived lungs.  
  
Snake was pressing the dagger into his throat, the tip digging in, and he was aware its sharp edge even through the fabric. Null could feel Snake's hard chest crushed against his back, the thick arm around his neck corded with muscle.  
  
"What do you people _want_ from me? Why are you following me? Who're you working for?" Snake asked, his voice low and rough, and Null could feel his hot breath against his ear, even through the cover of his mask, his rough beard tangling in his hair. And his _scent_.  
  
Null's eyes widened, and he breathed in as deeply as his restricted air intake would allow, taking in the smell of sweet smelling smoke and the outdoors and gun metal and

 

_a laughing voice, he felt safe, protected. A strong arm, a warm, sweet scent_

_  
"You'll be ok here, Fra-"_

 

"Who?!" Snake barked in his ear, demanding answers, and Null snapped back to himself, remembering what he had to do, remembering his objective. 

  
Null drove his elbow into Snake's abdomen, no doubt leaving a tender spot that would bruise horribly later on, and hooked an ankle around the back of Snake's knee, knocking Snake off balance and pulling him over his shoulder, effectively breaking his hold, still keeping a hold on his own weapon.  
  
Snake got to his feet, the dagger he had held skittering across the floor, and his hand jumped to the gun he had holstered, freeing it and readying it, pointing it at Null.  
  
"Look, kid-" Snake tried, sighting along the barrel, stance alert but expression woeful. Null didn't give him a chance to try and plead with him and leapt at him, a yell torn from his throat as he sprinted at him, drawing up his sword, Snake got one, two, three shots off, but all of them just missed him, Null dodging them in his single minded attempt to apprehend, to neutralize Snake.  
  
Null drew the machete up still higher, and brought the hilt of the machete crashing down on Snake's head. Snake shook it off, tried to shoot him again, but Null was ready, slamming the butt of the machete into his head again and again, trying to render him unconscious.  
  
Snake fell to his knees, gun falling from his limp hand, and then sprawled out on the ground, eyes shut, out cold. Null stood, breathing heavily, adrenaline coursing through his veins, a throbbing pain in his chest and arm, looking down at Snake.  
  
He scanned his features, taking in the nose that looked like it'd been broken at least twice before, the tiny scar beneath his eye, the flat black of his eyepatch, the unkempt mane of brown hair peeking out messily from the bandana, reaching the collar of his shirt. His casual t-shirt.  
  
Null blinked. This man wasn't wearing light gear as he'd thought. He was in normal civilian clothing. The pants he was wearing were military cargo pants, and he did have a holster strapped to his hip, but aside from that he was completely unsuited for this sort of fight. Dress wise in any case.  
  
Null pushed these details from his mind. He must neutralize the target. He had to complete the mission.  
  
Null raised the machete again, flipping it in his hands, the point downwards, ready to pierce the Snake's heart. At least he was asleep, at least he wouldn't have to feel this so acutely. Null's face twisted beneath his mask, and prepared to plunge the machete in, fingers tightening around the hilt, muscles tensed and prepared to strike.  
  
Snake rolled out from under his machete, and Null struck hard ground. Null growled in frustration and attempted to swing out at Snake again, but Snake caught the flat of the blade with his unprotected forearm and struck Null's wrist, forcing him to relinquish his grip, only one hand on the hilt now.  
  
Snake sprung to his feet and tried to divest Null of his weapon, hand flailing out and grabbing nothing as Null spun away, dropping into a ready stance.  
  
"Why?" Snake asked, looking tired. The collection of wrinkles at the corner of his pure blue eye deepened as he creased his brow, looking Null over. "Why are you attacking me? I just wanted _peace_ , let me have _peace_."  
  
Peace... The peace of his tank, the ability to completely let go of everything but sensation... He wanted to get back to it. He only had one way to do so.  
  
"I'll give you your peace, Snake." Null promised him, his voice flat but full of determination. Snake looked shocked.  
  
"You...." Snake said, frowning as he tried to place the emotionless voice with a name.  
  
Null dove back at him, machete high and ready to strike.  
  
"Perfect Soldier!" Someone barked. Null skidded to a stop, looking over his shoulder at the wall of a man that had barked the order. His smooth, cleanly shaven head looked oddly disproportionate to the rest of him, his body nearly as wide as he was tall. A makeshift pegleg was supporting him inexplicably, and there was fearsome look on his face. He was flanked by two masked soldiers, their faces nearly completely obscured. "Incapacitate, not kill!"  
  
Snake took his momentary distraction to lunge for the dagger that had skittered across the floor, seizing the handle and spinning around, throwing it at Null. He dodged it easily and Snake lunged again, this time for his gun. Null didn't give him a chance to reach it, hitting Snake in the back of the head, forcing him to fall, limp, to the floor again.  
  
The huge man laughed. "Good work, Perfect Solider. Mission complete."  
  
The large man strode forward, the assault rifle he was repurposing as a leg clunking with every step, a cane adding to the din of his clunking footsteps. He knelt heavily on the ground and withdrew a syringe from the inner pocket of his fatigues. Fluid spurted out the tip as his pushed any possible air bubbles from the syringe, the syringe looking impossibly small in his brutish hand. He plunged the syringe into Snake's neck, forgoing any sort of sanitation for Snake's skin.

"Don't want him to wake up again for a long while now," The man said, scooping Snake up and holding him bridal style briefly before slinging him easily over his shoulder. He got to his feet again with a groan, pushing heavily into the ground with his cane before stomping away, Snake's slack face bouncing against his back. "You two, take care of the Perfect Soldier. I think he'll need help getting back to his tank, he didn't escape this fight unscathed. After all, no one fights a snake without getting bitten at least once."  
  
The man let out a bark of laughter at his own joke as he left, one hand securing the unconscious Snake and the other on his cane. The two soldiers rushed forward, rifles pointing towards the ground, inspecting Null.  
  
Null gazed back, waiting for them to make a move. He didn't know what the giant had been talking about. He felt fine. Perhaps a little woozy but-  
  
Woozy?  
  
Null looked down at the now sharp, stinging ache in his chest and reached up with an arm that felt like a leaden weight, probing a hole in his uniform with a gloved finger. Oh. It'd appeared that Snake hadn't missed all those times after all.  
  
Null noticed the wound in his other arm just as he fell forward, feeling the soldiers catch him just before he blacked out. The machete finally fell from his hand as his chin hit his chest, the soldiers dragging him with them as he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was _hard_ to write. I avoided it for so long. And life interferes. On the upside, I now have a lot more of the story written. Downside, it got a lot longer. I'm going to finish up a story I'm writing for a friend and something else, and then I'll get back to this. Thanks especially to iLibra and Kelz for listening to me moan about this story and reading parts of it for me, you two are awesome -finger guns-
> 
> Also, all Vietnamese information was lifted from the internet\library books, so apologies if I messed something up horribly. I just wanted to bring in Frank's Vietnamese heritage into it somehow, which is hard when the character remembers nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun story, amiright?
> 
> Anyway, I'm planning on this being 3-4 chapters, but that could change. None of the characters mentioned in this chapter aside from Frank (of course) and Elise were in the actual game because, like I said, I know next to nothing about Frank's time as the Perfect Soldier.
> 
> I've already got a little bit more of this written up, but I'm probably going to finish writing shameless Solimiller + Frank smut before I update this again, just to warn you.


End file.
